THE TREVORS: BOOKS I - IV

by Quinn, Ella

  He was rather old. Yet Father was much older than Mama, and they seemed to get on well. Laia wished he had chosen a younger man. A handsome man who wasn’t four and sixty. If one was to dream, one might as well wish for everything, and no one could argue that four and sixty was not old. If only the duke was four and thirty or even four and forty . . . Still, having children and her own houses to manage was a dream come true. She and her sisters had become convinced that their brother Damon would have to ascend to their father’s title before they would be allowed to wed.

  Laia would have liked to marry for love like her brothers Damon, Frank, and Quartus had done. But they had all defied Father in their choices. He was still extremely upset about that. The wives’ names were not even to be spoken aloud. At least not in Father’s hearing.

  Laia sighed. There was absolutely no possibility he would even consider allowing her or her sisters to find their own husbands. Then again, it was hard to look for a spouse when one was never allowed to meet any gentlemen at all except the elderly dancing master and the servants.

  Nevertheless, she should be happy. Her father had gone out of his way for her, and she must trust he had chosen a gentleman who would treat her well.

  Rising, she shook out her skirts before making her way to the morning room, where her mother could usually be found. Packing must be done, and Laia wanted to ask when they were leaving for Bath. Fighting the urge to skip, she hastened her step. Just the thought of visiting the spa town made Laia giddy.

  As she expected, her mother was with the cats in the morning room reading. A tea service was on a low table in easy reach of her chair.

  “Mama.” Laia waited while her mother placed a marker in the book and closed it.

  Her mother searched Laia’s face. “Is something wrong?”

  “I do not believe so. Father has informed me that I am to wed the Duke of Bolton.”

  Mama’s already straight back seemed to straighten even more and her brows lowered. “Bolton?”

  “Yes.” Laia nodded. He also said we were to visit Bath.”

  Her mother’s lips tightened for a moment, but then she smiled and rose. “We are indeed. You should inform your maid. There is much to do before we depart. I must write a letter.”

  “Yes, of course.” She followed her mother out of the room. “When do we leave?”

  “In a few days.” Mama’s voice sounded distracted. “Yes, that will do.” She glanced up as if surprised to find Laia still next to her. “Run along now.”

  She left her mother muttering to herself. What could be the matter?

  Guy Paulet, former army officer, current Member of Parliament, and nephew and putative heir to the Duke of Bolton, had just sat down to tea with his good friends, Damon, Marquis of Hawksworth, and his wife, Meg, when their butler entered the well-appointed, sunny parlor carrying a silver salver.

  “My lady”—the butler bowed—A letter from her grace has just arrived via messenger. I gather it is urgent.”

  “Thank you, Saunders.” Plucking the missive from the salver, she popped the seal, and shook the paper open. A fine line formed between her brows. “It appears we are going to Bath for the summer,” she told Hawksworth

  “Indeed?” he asked after a few stunned seconds. When she did not respond he continued, “I suppose at some point you will get around to telling me why exactly we must go to Bath.”

  Meg Hawksworth’s frown deepened as she re-read the note. “Somerset has decided that your sister Laia is to marry the Duke of Bolton—I would love to know how that came about—and Catherine has convinced your father that Laia must be brought up to snuff socially before the wedding if she is not to embarrass the family. Of course, if he had let her come out like a normal lady. . .” Meg shook her head in disgust. “The Season has only another week to go, and your father will not allow her to come to Town or Brighton in any event, so Bath it is.”

  Pain radiating from Guy’s back teeth became intolerable, and he tried to loosen his jaw. If this union occurred, it would be his uncle’s fifth marriage. And Guy had no doubt at all that it would end the same as the others. In the death of his wife. In this case, the sister of his friend.

  Bolton, with his massive sense of self-worth, would not even consider the fact that he might be the cause of his wives’ failure to breed.

  Well, Guy was damned if he’d allow another lady to die for failing to give the duke an heir.

  Especially an innocent such as Lady Laia Trevor.

  One way or another, this engagement must come to an end. Guy would see to it.

  Before he could voice his objections, Hawksworth spoke. “What the devil is the old man thinking? Bolton will never see sixty again.”

  “Not to mention the tendency of his wives to depart this earth in an appallingly consistent fashion,” Meg murmured in a dry tone. “However, to answer your question, my love, he is thinking that his eldest daughter should wed a duke.”

  “And as Bolton is in need of a wife, he’ll do.” Hawksworth scowled. “That’s too simple. There is something Somerset wants from Bolton, and he’s using Laia to get it.”

  “I believe you are correct. Somerset doesn’t give anything away, even his children.” Meg placed the letter on a small cherry table next to her. “Well, there is nothing for it. We must think of a way to stop the marriage.”

  “The question is, short of putting my sister on a ship to Frank and Jenny in New York, what are we going to do?” Hawksworth glanced at his wife.

  Guy favored the idea of Hawksworth sending his sister to his brother and sister-in-law. Even Somerset couldn’t get to her in America. Or could he? From what Guy had heard of the duke, he’d go to any lengths to get his way. Meg was right. Stopping the marriage was the only sure way of saving Lady Laia.

  The conversation paused as the butler carried in a tea tray complete with tarts, biscuits, and small sandwiches. Once Meg had ensured Guy and her husband had cups of tea, and even fuller plates, she said, “We shall find another gentleman for Laia to wed.”

  An excellent idea. Guy wondered if Meg had someone in mind.

  “The gentleman must be at least marginally acceptable to Somerset.” Hawksworth bit off half of his biscuit, chewed, and swallowed. “Unlike my brothers, my sisters are well under Somerset’s thumb. And if Laia marries someone of whom he will not eventually approve, it will go worse for the other girls.”

  “You have a good point.” Meg nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of tea as Guy applied himself with gusto to the offerings on his plate. “Guy, I think you would be the perfect solution.”

  Chapter 2

  Guy choked and hastily covered his mouth to keep food from spewing over himself and the furniture. Laughing, Hawksworth slapped Guy on the back. “Me?” Guy croaked, barely getting the words out. “But I’m not ready to be leg-shackled yet.”

  “Since Meg and I married, I’ve never been happier,” Hawksworth assured Guy in a manner he assumed was meant to be helpful.

  “Aside from that,” Meg added, “if you wish to progress in your career, you must wed.”

  Yes, but not this minute or even this year. “Why me?” Not only that, but her suggestion was preposterous. He did not even know the lady. He had to find a way to change Meg’s mind. “There must be dozens of gentlemen more eligible than I. Somerset will never approve of me. I don’t even have a title.”

  “Not in Bath.” Meg’s tone brooked no argument.

  “I beg your pardon, my dear,” Hawksworth said. “But I believe you have jumped ahead in the conversation. Not what in Bath?”

  “Gentlemen.” Her eyes widened as if she were amazed her husband and Guy were confused. “Most of them will be in Brighton.” Well, that was distressingly accurate. “Aside from the obvious, Somerset wants a duke, and when Bolton dies, Guy will ascend to his title.”

  “Our family is amazingly long lived,” Guy said. “It will be years before I become a duke.”

  He glanced at Hawksworth in a vain hope of finding sup
port.

  “She is right, you know.” Hawksworth smirked. “You are the perfect candidate.”

  “I have never even met your sister.” Guy hoped the desperation he felt did not show. Meg Hawksworth was like a dog with a bone when she got one of her ideas.

  “No one has. All the girls have been kept close.” Hawksworth seemed to consider his words for a moment before saying, “If it comes to that, I had never met Meg before I was introduced to her.” Hawksworth gave his wife a smoldering glance. “After that, I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”

  Meg grinned. “And you were the last person I wished to fall in love with.” Her gaze lingered on her husband before she turned back to Guy. “The very least you can do is allow us to introduce you to Laia. If you take a violent dislike to each other, we shall attempt to find another gentleman.”

  “You cannot judge by that, my love.” A slow smile dawned on Hawksworth’s face. “Look what happened when you decided you couldn’t stand me.”

  She met Hawksworth’s smile with one of her own. “Quite right, my love.”

  This was getting Guy absolutely nowhere. But if he met the lady, he might be able to find some gentleman more suitable to her than he was. After all, the main goal was to stop her marriage to his uncle. “Very well. I agree to meet her.”

  “Excellent.” Hawksworth wandered to the bell pull and tugged. A moment later, Saunders appeared. “Inform Mr. Cummings that I have need of a house in Bath . . .” He looked at Meg.

  “Near or in Laura Place,” she said.

  “Near or in Laura Place,” Hawksworth parroted as if the butler couldn’t hear Meg.

  “Very good, my lord. I shall inform him immediately.”

  One of Hawksworth’s black brows inched toward his hair line as he considered Guy. “Will you require a house there as well?”

  “No. I have one. Believe it or not, one of my great-aunts has given me a house in Great Pultney Street, not far from Laura Place. I was going to rent it out, but wished to inspect the condition first.”

  “How generous of her,” Meg exclaimed.

  “Not really. Her bosom friend, with whom she has lived for many years, died not long ago, and she did not want to pay for the upkeep.” Guy frowned to himself. “For a reason I do not understand, I have been the recipient of a number of properties either by bequest or gift.” He shrugged. “Fortunately, they are all self-supporting and provide me with more than sufficient income to maintain my position in the government.”

  “In that case,” Meg said, setting down her cup, “you will have no problem supporting a family.”

  Guy wanted to groan. He should have known that part of the conversation had not ended. He had to make them understand that he would not commit himself to the lady. “I promised to meet her, nothing more.”

  Her eyes widened innocently. “Naturally.”

  “I shall make arrangements to post to Bath in the next few days.” He stood to say his farewells. “Please advise me when you will arrive.”

  “We shall.” Meg rose as well. “According to my stepmother-in-law, they will be in Bath next week sometime.”

  He bowed to Meg and shook Hawksworth’s hand. “No need to show me out. I know the way by now.”

  As Guy strolled down the corridor to the front door, a thought came to him. His uncle would not be at all happy if Guy managed to filch the man’s bride. Still, even though neither he nor his friends thought the young lady should wed Bolton, Guy wondered whether they could turn her from the betrothal. Assuming she even wished to escape it. Most ladies dreamed of marrying a duke. Not only that, but from what Hawksworth had said, Lady Laia was very much under her father’s control. Would she refuse to honor a betrothal Somerset had made?

  The situation was not nearly as straightforward as his friends appeared to think it was.

  Dear Bolton,

  I shall inform my daughter of her July wedding.

  My solicitors will send you the settlement agreements. I trust you will make time to visit Bath before the wedding. My duchess has taken a house on Laura Place.

  Yr. servant

  Somerset

  Although Bath was not a great distance from their father’s principal estate, Mama refused to allow anyone to remain there while she was in the town. But not everyone would fit comfortably in the town house. The children, Thalia, the seventeen-year-old third sister, and Mary, the youngest at eleven, were too young for the entertainments in Bath. They were left at Roselands, a modest family estate only a half hour from Bath. They were accompanied by their nurse, nursemaids, and governess. Their twin brothers, Decimus and William, both thirteen and back from Eton for a holiday were at Roselands as well.

  Gazing at the town house in Laura Place, one in a long row, Laia understood her mother’s decision about room for them and her nineteen-year-old sister Euphrosyne. The house had four floors and what appeared to be an attic, but was not very wide.

  “Let us find our rooms and prepare for dinner.” Mama smiled. “Then I have a surprise for you.”

  Laia couldn’t think what would make her mother so happy. It certainly wouldn’t be a visit from the Duke of Bolton. Her mother clearly hadn’t been pleased with the betrothal when she had muttered something about the news and excused herself to write a letter. Laia had spent the next week expecting to hear she was no longer engaged. Instead, preparations for their journey to Bath had consumed all their time.

  On the day before they had departed, her father gave her a betrothal ring and a miniature of her betrothed sent by the Duke of Bolton. One would think his grace could have sent them directly to her.

  She glanced down at the thick gold band set with a large ruby flanked by diamonds of almost the same size. The ring would have looked much better on a dark-haired lady. Laia had inherited her mother’s pale complexion and her father’s nearly white hair and would have much preferred sapphires. Perhaps she should have sent a miniature of herself to the duke so that he would have known what would look well on her.

  The ring also hung loosely on her finger, and if she was not careful, she would lose it before she could have it altered.

  She studied the painting once again. Bolton was handsome enough, with russet hair and blue eyes. Yet there was something about those very same eyes that appeared almost feral. She gave herself a shake. That could have been a mistake by the artist. She hoped it was.

  If the portrait was accurate, he was either in very good health, or the painter had—except for the eyes—flattered him. He did not look like a man of four and sixty years, but once again, she wished he were younger.

  Laia shrugged her shoulders lightly. She was becoming fanciful. Father had said she would meet her betrothed here, and once she did, everything would be fine, she was certain. She just wished she knew when that would be.

  A half hour later, she sat before her mirror as her maid, Smithers, deftly twisted Laia’s normally unruly curls into a fashionable confection of braids, a knot, and tendrils, before weaving a Prussian blue ribbon through it all.

  After donning a white, spangled shawl, she picked up her reticule and fan and proceeded to the drawing room. Unlike in the two other houses she had visited, Meg’s family’s home and Anna’s—her other sister-in-law, the Duchess of Wharton—Laia did not require a footman to show her the way. The Laura Place house was not only small, but straightforward.

  As she approached the parlor, low voices filtered into the corridor. One of them was male and very familiar.

  “Damon!” The next moment, she spied her sister-in-law. “Meg! How come you to be in Bath? I would have thought you would spend the summer in Brighton.” Laia glanced at her sister-in-law’s stomach. Meg was five months pregnant, but she was barely showing in the high-waisted gown. “How are you feeling?”

  “Excellent.” Meg bussed Laia’s cheek. “I have not been ill once. Why would we go to Brighton when you are in Bath? We have so little opportunity to spend time with you.”

  Meg laughed as Damon scooped Laia
up into a tight hug and exclaimed, “I swear you have grown prettier since I last saw you.”

  “Do not crush me. Smithers just spent thirty minutes on my hair.”

  “This”—Damon released her—“is what happens when the children grow up. They become too old for hugs from their brother.”

  Mama shook her head and Meg embraced Laia, careful of her hair. “We have taken a house and plan to spend as much time as possible with you and your sisters and brothers. Catherine told us you would be here.”

  Ever since Damon’s falling out with their father, her brother had not been home to visit. Laia still did not know how her mother had persuaded her father to agree her brothers and sisters could attend the wedding breakfasts of Damon and her second-eldest brother, Frank.

  “I’m glad for it.” Rising up on her toes, she pecked Damon’s cheek. “We do not see enough of you. Have you heard I am to marry?”

  “Yes.” Meg’s smile was more polite than real and did not reach her normally expressive eyes. First Mama, now Meg. For some reason, neither of them was happy about Laia’s wedding. “Your mother wrote to us about the betrothal.”

  That answered the question of who Mama had written that day, but why was no one but Laia and her father pleased with her engagement? It was as if her mother, brother, and sister-in-law chose to completely ignore Laia’s new status. And that irked her. She was about to mention the subject when Euphrosyne entered the room and practically threw herself into their brother’s arms.

  “Meg, Damon! This is wonderful. I never dreamt you would be our surprise.”

  “Now, that’s what I call a proper welcome!” He twirled Euphrosyne around before setting her feet back on the floor.

  “We miss you.” She gave Meg a quick hug. “Thalia, Mary, and the twins are at Roselands. Will you visit them as well?”

  “Of course we will.” Meg kissed Euphrosyne’s cheek. “We have missed all of you as well.”

  The small drawing room already seemed crowded with people when her mother’s butler, Perkins, intoned, “Mr. Guy Paulet.”